Don't Lose Your Head

Nothing says animated fun like a good old beheading. And that’s what we get in the very first Cubby Bear cartoon, “Opening Night” (1932).

The cartoon involves an opera on stage at the Roxy Theatre in New York. There’s a huge sword-fight scene at one point. Like in a number of New York cartoons of the era (mainly at Terrytoons), there’s a large crowd shot in cycle animation.



The hero cat is engaged in sword-play with a devil cat (second from top). He’s shocked when his head his sliced off and the head flies, shouting, past the camera.



What makes the beheading even more touching is a quiet version of “Silent Night” is heard over the opening credits and then the iris opens to reveal Santa and his reindeer in the sky.

Cubby’s involvement in his debut cartoon is conducting the animal orchestra in the pit at the Roxy. Devon Baxter points out good portions of the cartoon are lifted from the 1931 Fable Melody Mad, including the sequence above.

One of the problems with the Van Beuren cartoons is they weren’t packed with gags like a Fleischer cartoon, which had stronger gags to begin with. But Cubby’s best cartoons aren’t all that bad and they have some surprising bits in them. Like a head being cut off.

Quiet Man Gale Gordon

Anyone raised on television will think of Gale Gordon as a self-important blowhard picking on poor Lucille Ball, sometimes with justification. Lucy never tired of Gordon’s characterisation and stuck it in every one of her shows after “I Love Lucy” moved into Lucrative Rerun Land. No doubt she realised having a “bad guy” put the audience’s sympathy on her. It was a good way to make sure people still loved Lucy.

By then, Gordon had been playing pompous bellowers for so long, people likely forgot he had once been a dramatic actor; he even starred as Flash Gordon at one time. Yet Gordon felt the bellowing wasn’t what made his character. It was the way he reacted before the shouts of annoyance, he believed, that provided the comedy that kept him constantly employed at a high salary. Here he is talking about it to the Associated Press in a radio-TV column published in 1951, when his only appearances with Lucy had been on radio.

Radio Actor Makes Money By Keeping Quiet
By JACK QUIGG
While Bob Thomas is vacationing, guest writers will conduct his column.
HOLLYWOOD, July 11. (AP)—Silence is golden, especially if you can keep as mum as artfully as Gale Gordon.
Mr. Gordon, a handsome, fortyish gentleman with a Clark Gable mustache and the trace of a British accent, earns as much as a lot of movie stars simply by keeping his mouth closed—at the right time.
One of Hollywood’s top radio actors, he is known in the trade as “The Master of the Eloquent Pause.”
If you don't quite place his name, you undoubtedly know him by voice if you’re any kind of a radio fan—he appears regularly on seven big network programs. Gordon is:
Mayor Latrivia on the “Fibber McGee and Molly” show; bank president Rudolph Atterbury on “My Favorite" Husband;” school principal Osgood Conklin on “Our Miss Brooks;” Mr. Scott, head of RCA, on the Phil Harris-Alice Faye show; Mr. Merryweather, Ronald Colman’s rich friend on “Halls of Ivy;” Mr. Bullard, the next door neighbor, on “The Great Gildersleeve,” and the girl friend’s father on the Dennis Day show.
“These characters are all of a type,” says Gordon, “pompous, stuffy, opinionated and loud. Therefore, it is easy to make them humorous if the script writer is skillful.”
What is the eloquent pause? Here is an example from, say, the Fibber McGee show:
McGee says something insulting or aggravating. Gordon, as Latrivia, should properly reply with anger or frustration—something quick and sarcastic. But he doesn’t.
“I wait. There is a long pause. I am trying to control my temper. The audience knows this and it is going over all the possible answers I may give.
“Then, at last, I come out with a very flat remark. Maybe something as simple as the one word, ‘yes.’ It is doubly funny because everyone listening knows that you fought off a temptation to explode into something more violent.”
Gordon says the technique is so effective he frequently gets laughs before he makes his comeback. The secret, he says, is knowing how long to keep silent before replying.
“It’s instinct, really,” he says. “The ear helps a little, but the eyes never. I have one infallible rule—never look at the audience. I build up the silence by showing frustration, exasperation. But you can’t hold it too long.”
Gordon readily admits he’s typed, but he doesn’t mind. “I am paid very well, well enough so I’m not struggling to get out of the rut,” he says.
Some might consider his work very easy indeed. He devotes less than two and a half hours to each show, including air time. That’s only about 20 hours a week.
But besides his regular appearances, he is in demand for mystery and drama programs in which he capably plays a variety of roles.
New York born, his father, Charles T. Aldrich, was a vaudeville headliner for many years. His mother, Gloria Gordon, sang in musical comedies and is still active as the Mrs. O'Reilly of “My Friend Irma.”
Schooled in England—which accounts for the British accent—he broke into show business on Broadway and was a leading man in stock companies before settling in Hollywood in 1926.
His eloquent pause being such a laugh-getter, why haven’t more actors tried it?
“Several have,” says Gordon, “but they didn’t have the nerve to keep still long enough.”

There’s a big difference between Mayor LaTrivia and the various characters Gordon personified on the various Lucille Ball shows on TV. LaTrivia would finally explode because both Fibber and Molly kept, stupidly and somewhat illogically, misinterpreting what he was saying until he became tongue-tied. LaTrivia was sympathetic in his own way; you could understand he had a good reason to be frustrated. He wasn’t a naturally nasty, sour character like Gordon played opposite Lucy, and Eve Arden before her. For me, the routine got wearying. Audiences didn’t agree until 1986, when “Life With Lucy” served up the same old comedy stew for eight episodes before the Ball-Gordon kitchen was closed for good. By then, Gale Gordon was 80. He had carved out a steady, high-profile career with paycheques that even Theodore J. Mooney and Uncle Harry Carter couldn’t gripe about.

Pun of the Puny Express

Heck Allen wrote for Tex Avery, so it’s not a surprise an Avery-like joke or two would seep into his work for Walter Lantz.

Much like Avery’s “Lucky Ducky,” Lantz’s “Puny Express” (1950) has a chase interrupted at the side of a road for a sign pun. Woody and his horse skid to sudden stop when they hear a blare of car horns.



Cut to a toad with horns slowly hopping along. He stops, reveals his gag, then resumes hopping.



Pun king Bugs Hardaway co-wrote the cartoon with Allen. They were gone from Lantz by the time the cartoon appeared in theatres. The storyboards were made before a shutdown of the studio in 1948 and this was the first cartoon released after it re-opened. Dick Lundy claimed in a letter to Mark Mayerson he directed it before being let go in the shutdown but there’s no director credit.

Goldimouse Hammer Bash

“No spoiled brat son of mine is going to have to eat porridge!” declares Sylvester. So he sets out to capture a blonde mouse with the expected end result in “Goldimouse and the Three Cats” (1959).

One gag has Sylvester building a contraption that’ll smash the mouse with a hammer when she goes through it from her mouse hole.



But the mouse simply bypasses the contraption.



Then she activates it when Sylvester chases her into her hole. You knew the gag was coming.



The cartoon is directed by Friz Freleng. What’s unusual is it features Sylvester, Jr., normally handled by Bob McKimson, and was written by Mike Maltese, who was long attached to the Chuck Jones unit. It could be that Freleng’s writer, Warren Foster, had left for the John Sutherland studio so Maltese was seconded and used whatever characters he felt like. The cartoon features a rare appearance by Sylvester’s wife.

Art Davis, Gerry Chiniquy and Virgil Ross handled the animation, likely assisted by Bob Matz, Art Leonardi and Lee Halpern.

Frank Fontaine Became Crazy

A week ago, we mentioned how Larry Storch hosted a summer replacement variety show in Jackie Gleason’s TV time slot in 1952 and 1953. But it appears Storch wasn’t the first choice. It looked like Jackie had his eye on someone who later appeared as a regular on his show.

Gleason was much more than Ralph Kramden. He had a number of characters he’d trot out on his variety show in the early ‘60s. One of them was Joe the Bartender, who’d banter with the camera as if it were a customer named Mr. Dunahee, and then play straight man after bringing on Frank Fontaine as Crazy Guggenheim. I loved Craze. He was like a silly, corny cartoon character. In fact, he was. Fontaine’s Crazy vocal mannerisms were borrowed for cartoon characters at Warner Bros., Walter Lantz and Hanna-Barbera, most famously by Stan Freberg as Pete Puma.

It’s tempting to call Fontaine an overnight success and to give credit to Jack Benny for it. Fontaine’s brain-frozen character first appeared on the Benny radio show on April 9, 1950 as John L.C. Sivoney, the slow-thinking sweepstakes ticket winner. The audience howled. Benny broke up. Then Benny handed him the last third of the show to do an extremely good Winston Churchill and other impressions. Fontaine’s career was on its way. Here’s how Fontaine described it to a columnist for the North American Newspaper Alliance in 1950.

TV, Radio And Pictures All After Frank Fontaine
By HAROLD HEFFERNAN
HOLLYWOOD, July 18—Couple of months ago an undiscovered character actor named Frank Fontaine playing the role of a panhandler stole two successive Jack Benny radio programs by mumbling something like “I was just hanging around . . . I wasn’t doing anything.”
Those two brief air appearances performed one of Hollywood’s minor miracles. Before going on with Benny, Fontaine actually “wasn’t doing anything . . . was just hanging around,” but within a matter of days he became the busiest, most sought-after fellow in the entire Hollywood amusement field—movies, radio and television. He hasn’t done anything definite as yet about his future—and for a very astonishing reason.
“I haven’t had time to sign up with anybody—and I mean just that,” the new-found mimic grinned between scenes of “Call Me Mister,” in which he is playing a comic army sergeant at 20th-Fox.
“CBS wants me to sign a 25-year optionless contract to play Amos and the Kingfish on the Amos-Andy radio show starting next year. Gosh, I haven’t had time to take care of that.
“Columbia wants to star me in a picture, but I haven’t had a chance to go over and check on that deal.”
“This studio (20th-Fox) wants me to sign a long-term contract, but there are problems in connection with that which requires time to think over and talk about.
“NBC has offered me a one-hour television show of my own which would be channeled all over the country. I hope to get a few hours off this week to look into that.”
Fontaine, only 30 years old, is the father of 7 children—oldest 12 and the youngest an infant. His wife and family reside in Boston—and therein lies the greatest of all his “time” problems.
“After all those offers following the Benny show, I knew I was set,” Frank said, “so I wanted my family to join me here—in a hurry. But—in the 2 months since then I haven’t had a chance to go out and look for a house and back yard big enough to take care of them.”
This coming fall and winter Fontaine’s fantastic comedy characterizations will be making their long overdue appearance in one picture after another. First will be Republic’s “Hit Parade of 1951,” followed by “Stella,” with Ann Sheridan and Victor Mature and the currently filming “Call Me Mister,” supporting no less a star than Betty Grable and if radio and television don’t sew him up completely there’ll be other screen roles, too, and in rapid order.
No longer is Mr. Sevony—his Benny radio character—“just hanging around.”

But the Sivoney/sweepstakes routine wasn’t something carefully concocted by Benny’s writers. It was something Fontaine had been doing for some time and one Benny had likely seen or heard. In February that year, he appeared on Ed Sullivan’s “Toast of the Town.” The previous April, Sivoney showed up on radio’s “Ted Mack’s Original Amateur Hour.” And Billboard’s review of Fontaine’s turn in the Vaughn Monroe road show on July 5, 1947 refers to the sweepstakes routine as “standard.” By the time Fontaine had appeared with Benny, he was already in theatres in the MGM film “Nancy Goes to Rio.” But exposure on a top show like Benny’s couldn’t hurt. CBS signed him to a contract in November 1950.

In fact, the Sivoney character predates Fontaine’s professional career. He talked about it to Anton Remenih of the Chicago Tribune in a story published August 10, 1952. This transcription is missing part of a couple of sentences, including the final one, but you can get the gist.

Frank Fontaine, a rising comedian we confidently predict will be a television hit in 1953, is the only guy in show business we’ve met who made more money as an amateur than as a professional. The creator of the hilarious radio, WBBM, 7 pm, Sundays, and stage character, John L.C. Silvoney, the punchy sweepstakes winner, recalled his hardtack days between appearances at the Chicago theater the other day.
"When I turned pro at 16, I dropped from $52 a week to $18," he chortled. Frank married his wife, Alma, when both were 16. He had no job. "I won a Major Bowes amateur show with some imitations. Every other theater in New York City held amateur nights in those days (1936). I went from one to another, winning most of the time. I averaged $52 a week but this was a precarious living especially after our first two children were born."
When he got an offer of regular employment at $18 a week, Frank took it.
"You could feed a family of four on $1 a meal in those days," he said. Today CBS has Frank signed up to an exclusive seven year radio and television contract. He could, he said, go on TV regularly immediately, but he’s not ready. He’s playing it slow and he hopes smart. Just as he did 16 years ago on the amateur night circuit.
"As everybody knows, amateurs often win on sentiment not talent. So I appeared on the stage with holes in my shoes and elbows, and if we were especially hungry that week, with a limp. The audience took one fast look at this courageous, struggling youngster, whispered 'O. look at the poor kid,' and voted me first prize. I'm one of the few guys who ever beat a blind accordionist on an amateur night. He made the mistake of appearing well dressed and arriving in an automobile.
"Don’t dress up too good," Frank advises youngsters butting their heads against one of the most competitive professions in the world.
"Love everybody in show business. And don't discuss religion or politics. Show people are sensitive or they wouldn't get in the business."
"You’ve got to get into the money with one gimmick," he said. "Mine is Silvoney. But how long do you think I would last on television with one character?"
Fontaine expects to appear in his own TV show by December. In the meantime he is developing more characters. One is Pop, a toothless old gent always harking back to the good old days. Another Is Fred Frump, a gabby bore and corny joke teller. Everybody knows at least one Fred Frump and one Pop.
Fontaine belongs to the Red Skelton-Jackie Gleason school of comedy. All are masters of caricature, specialists in the art of molding hilarious characters from basic human types. You could get by on radio stringing one joke after another, sausage style. In radio, the talent is often reposed in the writers. In television, you need some yourself.
Fontaine was born with it. His father, half of a top flight vaudeville team, perched his 8 year old son on his knee and sang "Sonny Boy." He became a teachers pet not because of academic prowess but because he could mimic the principal, an irascible character unpopular with the staff.
At 15, Frank’s front porch at Medford, Mass., was mecca for the neighborhood kids who came to hear Henry, a character he assumed to recite "Little Red Riding Hood" and "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs."
Look at the accompanying picture of Silvoney [not in this post]. Henry was simply a 15 year old Silvoney.
Fontaine got the idea for this character after seeing Irish sweepstakes winners recite their reactions on the newsreels in the ’30s.
We’ve never met a showman with stronger paternal instincts than Fontaine. Let’s look at the record. There are now 10 in the family. They share four baths in a big 12 room house near Hollywood. They mean to stick together.
"Movie stars love their families, don’t be mistaken about that," he said. "But some of them love their careers more. When necessary, they choose in favor of their careers. Nothing like that is going to happen to us. We’re sticking together.
"I could have gotten into television this summer as a replacement for Jackie Gleason. But that meant going to New York and leaving my family. I could pick up money, a lot of it, at the Palladium in London. But London is even farther away from home. We could really live it up."
Fontaine let it go at that, but we think this guy will make out all right. At 32, with the best years still ahead on television, he hasn’t forgotten a sure fire formula he learned at 16.

Despite the comparisons with Gleason and Skelton, Fontaine never accomplished what they did and made a career of hosting a variety show doing a multitude of characters of his own creation. People only wanted one—the one with the wheezy laugh he developed as a teenager during the Depression. Being boxed in must have grated on him after awhile. He expanded a bit on the Gleason show by interrupting his Crazy schtick for a song in a straight baritone, popular (if not schmaltzy) with some, but oddly jarring to others.

Frank seems to have worked steadily but ran into money troubles. In 1971, he filed for bankruptcy and his 12-room house was put up for auction to pay an almost half-million-dollar tax bill. He was $850,000 in debt. Frank Sinatra and others came to his rescue with a benefit show. His health wasn’t good. He had been hospitalised in 1970 after collapsing following a lengthy performance on the Jerry Lewis telethon. In 1977, he lay unconscious in hospital after what may have been a heart attack. And then the following August, he had just finished his fourth encore before a crowd of 3,000 in Spokane and had accepted a $25,000 cheque to be donated to heart research when he dropped to the boards backstage. A heart attack claimed Fontaine at age 58.

Here’s a great clip of Fontaine with Gleason as Joe the Bartender. The best part, besides the model at the opening who doesn’t seem to know when to talk, is Gleason alternating between Joe and Gleason-playing-Joe. Gleason generously acts as straight man to Fontaine, and then Fontaine stays out of the way to let Gleason’s reactions get laughs.

The Lost Cartoons of MGM

The MGM cartoon studio seems to have gone through more abandoned projects and units than anywhere else, though it may be a case of information about the other studios not surfacing. Boxoffice magazine had brief mentions of them at the time, possibly planted by Rose Joseph, who had been Leon Schlesinger’s P.R. department before going over to Metro.

The studio’s unit system was a little awkward at the beginning, with Hugh Harman and Rudy Ising “supervising” the directorial work of others, including Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera, as well as Jerry Brewer. Then things settled down with Hanna and Barbera in charge of one unit, Tex Avery another (September 1941), and George Gordon a third (July 1942). Gordon left in 1943 and the third unit vanished for a bit. Then Boxoffice mentioned on July 28, 1945:

TONY RIVERA has joined the cartoon department as a layout artist assigned to the “Barney Bear” unit.
Producer Fred Quimby’s Technicolor cartoon, “Rivets Stay Away From My Door,” introduces a new cartoon character, Rivets, a robot.

The Barney Bear unit seems to have been in a state of flux for months. Mike Barrier’s fine Hollywood Cartoons states that Mike Lah and Preston Blair began to co-direct the Barneys (only three were made) in early 1946. But before that happened, yet another MGM unit was announced in Boxoffice. Kind of. From December 15, 1945:

Quimby Organizing Cartoon Unit To Be Staffed by Ex-Service Men 
A new cartoon unit, to be staffed exclusively by returned service men, is being organized by Fred Quimby, chief of M-G-M’s shorts department. In the group, slated for assignment to the Barney Bear unit under the supervision of William Hanna and Joseph Barbera, co-directors of the Tom and Jerry series, are Bill Williams and Ralph Tiller (AAF), Jack Cosgriff and Chuck Couch (U.S. navy), Vonda Bronson Wise and Kathleen Coyle (WAVES).

The best-known names may be Cosgriff and Couch. Cosgriff had been writing for Lantz and then Columbia before the war broke out. His name first appears on an MGM cartoon released in 1949 (Tex Avery’s “House of Tomorrow”) but he spent at least a year at Lantz again before that. Couch worked at Disney through the ’30s before being hired to write at Lantz.

So what happened to the unit? Your guess is as good as mine.

You’ll also notice the mention of a cartoon about Rivets the robot. Boxoffice announced the production of “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Mouse” by the Hanna-Barbera unit about a month earlier. Newspapers actually announced it twice; I’ve found stories about Rivets published August 20, 1945 and again on October 19th. So it appears the end of the war wasn’t responsible for Rivets’ abortive screen career.

In leafing through Boxoffice, there are mentions of other cartoons that vanished from the production schedule, with the exception of “Lucky Ducky.”

December 16, 1944
Fred Quimby’s next slated cartoon is “The Thin Mouse.” First of a series to satirize the features. It will be a pen-and-ink burlesque of “The Thin Man.”

October 20, 1945
“Our Vine Street Has Tender Wolves,” Technicolor cartoon travesty starring animation stars, Red Hot Riding Hood and Wally Wolf, will be directed by TEX AVERY for FRED QUIMBY, producer.

May 10, 1947
Cartoons "Lucky Ducky," "Lovey Dovey" and "Oily to Bed," the latter starring Droopy the Ponderous Pooch, set to roll with Fred Quimby producing and Tex Avery directing.

Wally Wolf? Did Avery really call him that? Likely not. In fact, some of these mysterious cartoons may have been news to the directors who were supposed to be making them. Thad Komorowski, who has a list of MGM cartoon production numbers on his site, has commented “For the record, a lot of these were just fake titles ‘leaked’ by the MGM publicity department, often with no basis on what was actually going on in the cartoon studio.”

Here’s what Metro (or perhaps Quimby) trumpeted to Boxoffice in the first half of 1950.

January 21, 1950
“I’ll Be Skiing You” is the latest in Producer Fred Quimby’s cartoon series covering sports subjects.

February 11, 1950
Gil Warren, radio news commentator, was signed by Producer Fred Quimby to do the narration for the Technicolor cartoon, “You Auto Be in Pictures.”

February 25, 1950
“Jerry O’Mouse” is scheduled as the third in the foreign-locale series of Technicolor cartoons to be produced by Fred Quimby. The cartoon will be backgrounded in Ireland.

April 8, 1950
Slated for production as a Technicolor cartoon is “Tom Van Winkle.” Fred Quimby will produce the new adventure of “Tom Cat,” in which the feline gets hit on the head with a bowling ball and wakes up in the atomic age.

April 22, 1950
Scheduled as a new Tom and Jerry Technicolor cartoon was “Cat Carson,” to be produced by Fred Quimby.
“Jerry’s Dream Mouse” is being prepared by Producer Fred Quimby as a new entry in the Tom and Jerry Technicolor series.

May 13, 1950
Producer Fred Quimby has slated “Lighthouse Mouse” as a new Tom and Jerry cartoon.

June 10, 1950
“Putty Cat” has been added to the 1950-51 slate of Tom and Jerry cartoons by Producer Fred Quimby.

“You Auto Be in Pictures” might be Avery’s “Car of Tomorrow” (1951); Warren did provide narration in it. But the rest of the shorts were never made. Finally, in the July 15th edition, Boxoffice announces the Barney Bear cartoon “Wise Little Quacker,” the first cartoon Dick Lundy directed when he arrived at the studio on May 15, 1950 and made it to screens in late 1952. Some of the titles might have made good cartoons, though “Tom Van Winkle” sounds like a ‘60s Tom and Jerry by Chuck Jones and Abe Levitow, to be honest.

The most intriguing cartoon of all is mentioned in the December 9, 1952 edition of the Los Angeles Times, written by Edwin Schallert, the father of actor Bill Schallert. My thanks to Mark Kausler for deciphering the contents of the column.

Full-Length Tom, Jerry Cartoon Anticipated
While this may be away off as yet in fulfillment, there is a dream, at least, of a feature-length Tom and Jerry cartoon. And it’s about time, too. Fred Quimby’s animations in the short pictures released by MGM have already won an array of Oscars. It is logical that the progression should he achieved to the longer type of films, which have brought such manifest distinction to Walt Disney.
It comes to me from a very special unofficial source that the picture contemplated will involve Robin Hood type characters, with Tom and Jerry as valiant allies of whoever is proceeding rightly. And again it may be that the cat will be mixed up in his amusing fashion in sinister plotting.
Incidentally, Quimby and his directors, Joe Barbera and Bill Hanna, were due to join Gene Kelly in England this week to work on the cartoon in “Invitation to the Dance.” Not Kelly but children will take part in this with the animations if these are included. However the chances are that the cartoon part will be shot here and naturally this episode would follow a general form of Kelly’s dance with the mouse in “Anchors Aweigh,” and one lately devised for “Dangerous When Wet.”

As we all know, no feature cartoon was ever made at MGM.

The clipping you see to the right comes from Boxoffice of December 23, 1944. It may be tied in to this story in the March 27, 1943 edition:

Under the supervision of Executive Producer FRED QUIMBY, a series of cartoons featuring stories familiar to citizens of Latin America will be launched. First production is to be “Panchito y el Lobo,” or “The Boy Who Cried Wolf,” adapted from the universally known fable. Spanish main titles will be used with American sub-titles as subjects are slated for U.S. and foreign release.

While no series appears to have been made, the cartoon mentioned in the story was produced, after a name-change. You can see it below.

Sally in Hollywoodland

Some real treasures have been posted over the years on Rand’s Esoteric OTR. I’m pleased to discover not only is Randy posting again, he’s somehow got his hands on an audition disc for a half-hour radio show featuring the characters from the Walter Lantz cartoons.

The disc is dated June 7, 1947 and was produced by Harry Jacobs Productions, a syndicator with offices on Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles and in New York City. As far as I can tell, the company wasn’t able to sell the show and a series was never made.

Lantz had a good collection of voice actors in the late ‘40s (which makes his choice of the amateur Bugs Hardaway as Woody all the more puzzling). Amongst his regulars during that period were Lionel Stander as Buzz Buzzard, Jack Mather as Wally Walrus and Walter Tetley as Andy Panda. None of them are on this disc. But anyone familiar with cartoons will quickly recognise a few of the voices. Billy Bletcher is Wilbur Wolf, Sara Berner is Andy (she played the panda in cartoons such as “Knock Knock,” the Woody debut in 1940) and the wonderful June Foray provides a couple of voices, including Oswald the Lucky Rabbit and the mother.

You won’t find a raucous Woody in drag trying to con Wally on this show. The plot is strictly kid stuff with the Lantz characters befriending a girl named Sally (played by Norma Jean Nilsson, who appeared on radio’s “Blondie” and “Father Knows Best”). Samuel Kaylen’s score incorporates the Woody laugh. Press the arrow to play or stop.

Mysto the Magician Dance

Poochini is not impressed with Mysto the Magician’s hallway audition, which concludes with a little dance in “Magical Maestro,” one of Tex Avery’s best cartoons.

Here are 11 drawings used in the dance. Whoever animated it mixes them up. Some are shot on ones, some of twos, some on threes but the dance has a nice rhythm to it.



Grant Simmons, Mike Lah and Walt Clinton animated the short. Daws Butler is Mysto.

Korman's Clippings

When you think of Shakespeare, Harvey Korman doesn’t come to mind. Well, unless he’s doing the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet with Tim Conway and they’re cracking up. But before audiences typecast him as a sketch comedian, Korman was a dramatic actor on stage, as the clipping to the right from 1949 attests. In fact, he was one of the first three players signed for the stock company of the Los Angeles Summer Playhouse in June 1963; he only had a handful of TV guest shot credits at that point.

“When people ask me what my credits are,” Korman told the Archive of American Television, “I did a couple of good Mel Brooks pictures, and I did The Carol Burnett Show. That is my biography. Because the rest of it was pretty awful in one way or another.” Of course, if that had really been the case, Burnett would never have cornered him in the parking lot of CBS in 1967 asking him if he’d be interested in being part of her soon-to-be-starting variety show.

Korman, like other very funny people, failed in situation comedy. For viewers, seeing someone as a “real” character over a half hour is a lot different than seeing them in short, over-the-top routines spread out in between other variety elements. Korman was almost a regular sitcom supporting player in the early ‘60s, but fate intervened. He was hired to play the father in the teenaged sitcom “Karen,” and filmed the pilot in December 1963 to air the following September. But then Korman landed a banana job on the Danny Kaye variety show, so his role on “Karen” went to Richard Denning.

Here are a couple of pre-Burnett newspaper pieces about Korman. Both may have been CBS publicity handouts as they have no bylines. The first one appeared in The Dover Daily Reporter of March 14, 1964.

INDISPENSIBLE SECOND BANANA  
Who's Harvey Korman? Danny Kaye Tells You
Up until just recently, Harvey Korman could walk down the street of almost any major city and no one would recognize. This even included Hollywood. In fact, most people on reading this might still ask: "Who is Harvey Korman?"
He has been, during the last few months, a Nazi prison camp commandant, a shipboard steward, Robin Hood's Little John, an old time movie tycoon, a horror-movie monster, an officer of the Northwest Mounted Police.
More accurately, Korman is the "second banana," or utility player, on CBS-TV's "The Danny Kaye Show," appearing in various guises, almost always made up, costumed or be-wigged so that no one could possibly recognize him as he actually is.
When neither makeup, costume nor wig is called for, Korman manages to lose his own personality simply by adjusting the set of his shoulders or calling upon his remarkable ear for dialects and accents.
On a recent show, in a well-deserved tribute, Kaye brought Korman into the show's "sitdown" spot and introduced him formally to the TV audience.
"Harvey Korman," Kaye said feelingly, "is the most capable and versatile utility player I have ever worked with. He has become one of the rock-like foundations of this show."
"We figured out the other day," Korman muses, "that I've done over 50 different people in various sketches on 21 Kaye shows. If I were the type to have a split-personality problem, I'd never know who I really was.
"But, you see, I really think I'm always myself. If a script is well-written, and if the actor is good—and I think I'm a good actor—you can interpret who you're supposed to be without changing who you are. If I make myself clear."
He doesn't. But he believes it.
Korman's rare talent is best appreciated when it is realized that he is only the fourth genuinely versatile second banana to come along in 16 years of commercial TV. The other 3 are Carl Reiner, Howard Morris (who has now attained guest-star status and frequently appears on the Kaye show) and Art Carney.
Korman also is unique in other ways. Unlike most other comics, he was born in Chicago rather than New York and has already played Hamlet—not once but twice. That's a record not even his boss can boast.

And this appeared in the El Paso Herald-Post on June 12, 1965.

Versatile Comedian Plays Farce or Drama
HOLLYWOOD.—For an actor to play Hamlet is to have lived — to have accepted the drama world's greatest challenge.
But when Harvey Korman talks about his Hamlet, the expression "to have lived" takes on even greater meaning.
"HAMLET," says Korman, "saved my life. I was at a point in life where I had become so frustrated — so torn by self pity — that I debated whether I wanted to live or to die."
The tall, young character comedian of The Danny Kaye Show told us the story over a luncheon table just before a rehearsal for the weekly show, his 51st as Kaye's favorite utility actor.
HE PLAYS different characters every week, some in makeup, some as his handsome self. After 50 shows with Kaye, his character creations add up to more than 100. In many ways he is to Danny what Carl Reiner was to Sid Caesar in their triumphant TV days.
But over the luncheon table, Korman looked back to the year 1955 when he first came to Hollywood. Summer stock around Chicago, his home town, had kept him busy as an actor but real success had become a will o' the wisp.
"NO ONE," he went on, "seemed to want me as an actor, so I applied for a job as a $45-a-week warehouse freight cashier. I was turned down because I lacked experience. That's when I went into a frenzy of self pity. I walked away from the warehouse with tears in my eyes. Then, in a strange reaction, I started soliloquizing to myself, 'To be or not to be, to live or to die . . . " I had played Hamlet in college and the words came rushing back.
I remembered how confident I had been as a college boy and I said to myself; " 'Boy, oh boy, could I play Hamlet NOW.' "
KORMAN CALLS it "pure fate" because the next day a friend told him about a production of Hamlet being planned at a Hollywood little theater. Korman auditioned, won the role and played it for six weeks. From a distinguished member of one night's audience — Bette Davis no less — Korman rewon confidence in his acting career.
"Thank you, honey," said Bette, after seeking him out backstage, "Now I know what this play is all about."
WHAT HOLLYWOOD now knows about Harvey Korman after 100 varied roles on the Danny Kaye show is that he can play anything from broad farce to straight drama.
Kaye thought so much of Korman he signed him to a personal contract.
A situation comedy series of his own is the 33-year-old actor's dream for his future which already includes becoming a father in July. Mrs. Korman is former Chicago model Donna Ehlert.

It goes without saying to anyone who has ever watched the Burnett show that Korman was a smash hit. Here’s an Associated Press story from October 13, 1968.

Television's Best 'Second Banana'
By CYNTHIA LOWRY
HOLLYWOOD (AP) — If Harvey Korman had chosen baseball for a career instead of acting—and had been as good at it—he would have wound up as the best catcher in the business. And he would have yearned, but not too much, to have been a star pitcher.
As it is, Korman, at 41, has achieved a success more appreciated inside the acting business than outside it—as the best and strongest support a comedian or comedienne can have in a variety show with its diverse requirements.
Korman backstopped Danny Kaye through four years of that star's weekly show and moved right over to perform the same function for Carol Burnett and her variety hour.
Six-feet four in height and a calory-counter, Korman can sing enough to get by, fake a little dancing but becomes a giant in the sketches—which is the place, these days, when the chips are down. He is a master of accents.
"My job is to help the star," Korman says flatly. "Whether it was Kaye or is Carol, I'm there to offer all the support. I can. And, I may say, it is a joy to work with them—as it is with Lucille Ball, Dick Van Dyke, Jackie Gleason and, of course, Jack Benny. Every one of them is a consumate actor."
Korman, although he participates in some wild comedy, considers himself an actor who is playing comedy parts in a variety show. Other pretty funny people have been careful to make the same distinction between being a comedian and an actor. Benny and Art Carney are among them.
Korman, as backstop man for the stars, however, slips into all sorts of different rote. On the Burnett show, he has numerous acting chores to perform depending on the whims of the show's writers, but has registered solidly in sketches in which he plays Carol Burnett's husband. "I don't look for comedy in the sketches," Korman explained.
"The thing an actor always looks for is the give and take with the other performers. In the case of Carol, there is plenty of it. If I can find some place" in the sketch that I can make a statement of some sort, Carol adores it...but of course, not all performers like to work that way when they are stars."
Co-star and general utility man for "The Carol Burnett Show" though he is, Harvey still would like to reach the top of his profession. But being the No. 2 man in a show has many advantages—financial security, steady employment, longevity in career and none of the trauma involved in trying to keep your own show somehow in the top third of the Nielsen ratings. Still, there is something about being the second banana that makes a performer just a little bit wistful.
He is, however, one funny fellow who does not dream of the day when he can play "Hamlet." He already has done that, on the stage, in Chicago, and to excellent critical notices.
He is a native of Chicago, was educated there and was hooked on acting in high school, which pushed him on to four years of dramatic studies at the Chicago Art Institute's Goodman School of Drama. Fellow students included Geraldine Page and Shelley Bennan, another artist who although he has made good in the comedy field, still insists be is. first of all, an actor.
Five years of trying to break into the New York theater led Korman to little except odd jobs for bread and butter, so he turned to summer stock and commercials. Eight years ago he was cast in a role in a Chicago play which brought him to the attention of Seymour Berns, then Red Skelton's director.
Three years later, Berns recommended Korman as a "character comedian" for Danny Kaye's show—a job that lasted four years.
When Carol Burnett and her producer-husband, Joe Hamilton were working out plans for her hour-long variety show two years ago. Carol remembered the actor's all-around work on the Kaye show and suggested that they get "a Harvey Korman type" for her.
"Why not try to get Harvey Korman?" asked her husband. And it was as easy as that.
What else does Korman want from his career?
"Well, everybody wants to be a star." he said," "but I just want to keep acting—in television, in movies, on the stage. And, later, I think I'd like to buckle into a bit of directing."

I suppose it’s understandable that after ten years of doing the same thing, Korman wanted to move on, especially when it’s ten years of not being the star. So he left the Burnett show in 1977. In an interview with United Press International, Korman makes an interesting comment that he considered leaving the show at the time Tim Conway joined the regular cast. Korman’s probably best-known for his byplay with Conway on the show.

Korman Steps Out On His Own Limb
By VERNON SCOTT
HOLLYWOOD, Aug. 14 (UPI) — Harvey Korman, among the most talented second bananas in television history, has departed "The Carol Burnett Show" to tackle the perils of becoming a top banana.
The enormously talented Korman hasn't made the move without trepidation. For the past decade he has enjoyed the security of a steady job — no small matter to show folk — in a top show, earning big bucks and without the awesome responsibility of carrying the load.
Korman is aware that some of his second banana friends have cut out of successful television series to star in shows of their own and have come up empty.
"I thought about leaving the Burnett show for a couple of years," Korman said. "I don't know now much personal courage it took on my part to leave, but it was now or never. There were all the reasons in the world to stay and none to leave. I'm coming up on my 50th birthday and if ever I planned to expand my career beyond work, then I'd better do it now."
Over his 10-year hitch as Carol's leading man, Korman was a one-man repertory company. By his own count, he appeared in nearly 1,000 sketches, three and four a show, in the course of 250 shows. He played everything from yokels to Ronald Colman-like movie stars with aplomb, panache, savoir faire and great gobs of hilarity.
Korman is virtually irreplaceable, according to Carol and her producer-husband, Joe Hamilton. The measure of his worth is that his job this season will be filled by Dick Van Dyke, himself one of the finest comedians the tube has produced.
"If you work as long as I have doing sketch material, you begin living a sketch life. Off-stage you begin to believe you have a sketch wife, sketch children and a sketch doctor.
"Hell, maybe I'm having a middle life crisis. But this is a very positive move in my life something I feel compelled to do."
Korman's immediate future is solid enough. He is starring in Mel Brooks' new comedy, "High Anxiety," in which he and Cloris Leachman play a pair of heavies running the Psychoneurotic Institute for the Very, Very Nervous, a loony bin in which the operators are nuttier than the inmates. He also has a five-episode commitment with ABC-TV for "The Harvey Korman Show," a situation comedy for which he already has made the pilot.
"I've discovered it's hard to play one guy with consistency after so many years of doings sketches," Korman said. "I'm in the process of establishing a dimensional character. He's an unemployed actor who teaches drama. He's something of a charlatan. Larger than life. The supporting cast includes his daughter and an agent.
"Just as I'm putting together his characteristics, I'm involved in establishing different dimensions in my personal life. I'm gravitating to more work and interest in my career. I'm involved in casting, writing and producing the show, which is very exciting to me. On the Burnett show I was just handed a script.
"Being on my own for the next year will be all right financially. I won't need any handout." Then, unable to resist voicing the actors' age-old insecurity, he concluded:
"But check with me next year. It could be different."

Korman tried several TV ventures. All of them failed. He had far more success uniting with Conway and hitting the road, bringing back memories of their Burnett successes to grateful audiences.

Harvey Herschel Korman was born on February 27, 1927 to Cyril Roy, a travelling salesman, and Ellen (Blecker) Korman. His father was Russian and his mother French. He spent about the first ten years of his life in Jackson, Mississippi before he, his mother and younger sister moved back to Chicago by 1940 (his father stayed in Jackson and remarried). He died in Los Angeles on May 29, 2008, leaving behind millions of laughs. He never would have done that with Hamlet.

A Few Dover Boys Backgrounds

Just what the title of the post says. I wish I could paste together the long opening drawing that the camera spends the first 45 seconds panning across (with stops for gags along the way). Instead, you just see the opening shot.



John McGrew came up with the layouts and Gene Fluery drew the backgrounds.